Your Bad Guy
by TwistingMoonbeam
Summary: Aftermath of the Meeeseeks episode. Morty can't sleep, Morty can't eat, and he won't tell anyone why. But Rick knows, and he's going to help his grandson through his nightmares. And also teach him about wielding a ray gun. R&R appreciated!


"Morty hasn't been sleeping lately."

Rick perked from pouring his Thursday morning coffee to listen to Beth and Jerry's whispered conversation. They were hunched over the breakfast table, discussing something. Jerry had a ketchup stain on his shirt from his omelet. Rick didn't point it out to him.

"How can you tell?" Jerry asked.

"Did you _see _him?" Beth pointed to the doorway Morty had just left through for school. "He looked awful, Jerry!"

Rick scooped his flask out of his lab coat to add a special ingredient to his coffee as Jerry shook his head. "And what do you think is keeping him _up_, Beth? Schoolwork?"

"His grades have been getting better ever since Morty started hanging out with Rick," Beth defended angrily.

"If you call Cs _better_," Jerry scoffed.

"I—I dunno J-J-Jerry," Rick spoke up, walking by the table. "RemEEEUUGGHmber 'Hungry for Apples'? Not w-what I would call A+ work th-th-there."

"Dad!" Beth hissed.

"Look," Jerry said, glaring sideways at Rick. "All I'm saying is that Morty probably isn't losing sleep over his algebra homework. We have to play process of elimination here, Beth."

"Dad," Beth said. "Do you think you could find out what's been bothering Morty? He'd tell you."

"I d-dunno why you pEEUUGGHHople are getting your p-panties in a tw-twist oOOGHHver the kid being tired," Rick said, rolling his eyes.

"He didn't look tired," Beth said, worry seeping into her tone. "Dad, didn't you see him? He looks like the walking dead."

"No h-h-he doesn't," Rick corrected instantly. "The dead—the dead got green skin, Beth. M-malfunctioning oOOGHHf the melanin from the body sh-sh-shutting down."

"I don't want to know how you know that," Jerry groaned.

"Dad." Beth's eyes sparkled—the same trick she's been using since she was little. "Please. If not for us, then for Morty? I'm worried about him."

"What she said," Jerry agreed.

"Okay okay fi-fine, Jerry, just hakuna your tatas." Rick drained his mug and tossed it in the sink. On his way out of the kitchen, he heard Jerry praying to God that this was a good idea.

It was. But he was going to handle it his way.

The day passed without deviation from the norm. Rick stayed in the garage until Morty came in when he got home from school.

Rick had to admit, the kid didn't look good: he looked almost dizzy, purple bags dragging under his eyes and his voice a hoarse ghost of its usual squeak of enthusiasm and curiosity.

Rick watched Morty carefully as he explained his current experiment: a complete fake piece of shit that he was posing as a device that could send you into the world of a book. Seriously, what the hell would Rick be doing building something to get himself a _book_? What was this, the freaking Pagemaster? But Morty bought it anyway, almost delighted by the hunk of metal Rick had thrown together ten minutes ago.

In reality, Rick had been too busy all day tinkering with the device that could help him enter people's dreams. They had almost short-circuited after he and Morty used them to go beyond any realm of dreams he had originally thought possible with Experiment: "Goldenfold" and he had to fix them for tonight's experiment.

Experiment: "Find Out What the Hell Was Up With Morty to Get Beth and Jerridiot Off My Back."

After displaying to Morty that he still had more work to do on the device (_Jesus Christ, _Morty better not come to him with a copy of Lord of the Rings or some shit like that), he killed a couple hours pretending to work out the kinks with the kid until Beth called for dinner.

Morty barely ate. He twisted his food around his plate, lost in his mind.

Rick frowned. The mind was the worst place to get lost.

"Morty?" Beth asked gently. "Aren't you hungry? I made your favorite."

"Umm—n-not really, Mom." Morty yawned, long and almost jaw-breaking.

"Are you feeling okay?" Jerry tried, glancing pointedly at Rick at the end of the table. "Feeling sick or anything, kiddo?"

"Naw, naw, I just…" Morty pouted into his plate. "I'm just not a fan of beans anymore, that's all."

Rick paused mid-chew, dropping his fork.

"Since when?" Summer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"S-since, uhh…" Morty squeezed his eyes shut and then burst up from the table. "Can I be excused?" He was panting. "Please," he added hastily. "I'm just gonna turn i-in early tonight."

"I don't know, Morty, you really should have a good meal—" Beth started.

"Let him go." Rick kept his eyes locked on Morty's. "SoOOGHHme sleep w-w-will do him good."

"Um…alright," Jerry said, after seeing a nod from Beth. "You're excused, Morty."

Morty wrapped his plate of untouched food in aluminum foil and put it in the fridge, leaving in a hurry.

"Get a good night's sleep, son!" Jerry called, but Morty was long gone. Jerry turned to Rick, eyes already glowing from the tirade he was about to unleash. But instead, he just blinked.

Rick was gone.

Hours later, the entire Smith family went to bed.

Rick pushed Morty's bedroom door open. The kid was asleep, but it was apparent to Rick that Morty hadn't officially gone to bed: comic books were strewn across his bed and he was still in his normal yellow T-shirt-jeans-tennis shoes attire. Which meant he had just recently fallen asleep. His timing was perfect.

Rick checked his lab coat pockets: all his weapons were present and accounted for. If his hypothesis about Morty's problem was correct, then he would only need one gun, but he was going to want to use all five.

Just as Rick was rolling his eyes about how neat and tidy Morty's room was (the kid was fourteen! Who did he expect to walk in, Jessica?), Morty began to clutch his sheets. He whimpered and curled into a ball.

Rick narrowed his eyes and put a device in Morty's ear, switching it on. And then he switched his own on, dropping into unconsciousness.

When Rick opened his eyes, he was in an orange-tiled bathroom. The walls were a dull, dead-peach-colored yellow, with green tiling squaring the room and two stalls. And something felt very, very off.

Then he heard Morty scream.

Rick ran under the door to the stall farthest to the left, Freeze-Ray in hand. Morty was chained to the wall, and towering above him was the jellybean freak from the dimension Morty picked for an adventure last week.

_Hypothesis: not falsified. _

"Wassup, sugar?" the jellybean slurred, running a finger down Morty's pale face. "Don't tease whatcha don't want. Just sit an' take it."

Morty was shaking way too hard. Aiming, Rick froze the jellybean's foot. As he roared in surprise, Rick yelled, "Down h-here, sicko!"

The jellybean reached for him, but Rick was faster, and sprinted over to Morty, who was staring up at him in wonder and intense relief. "R-R-R-Rick?" he managed.

"This is what's been keeUUUGHHping you up?" Rick demanded. "He's w-w-why you've been so—so tired?"

Morty looked down. "I've been having nightmares since the night we got back f-from that adventure about him. I—I didn't know what to do! I didn't want to tell my parents, I didn't know if I wanted to tell you, I didn't know how you'd react—"

"Morty, I've known this whole time!" Rick started to freeze the chains and break them with his foot. "I know whEEEUUGHHat he did to you."

Morty gaped. "Y-you _do_?"

"D-dammit Morty, I know how to use context clues!" He broke the last of Morty's chains. "A-a-also, I'm a grandpa. We know th-these kinds of things. Morty, listen to me." Rick put his hands on Morty's shoulders. "M-Morty, this is just a d-d-dream. You control how things work hEEUUGHre. He's not real!"

"But—but it still happened!" Morty's hands curled into fists. "Every t-time I close my eyes, I see _him. _I'm so scared…I'm so freaked out by him! I can't go to the bathroom a-at school without having a freakin' panic attack!"

"Morty." Rick's grip on his shoulders tightened. "I w-want you to remember what I'm about to say: as long as I'm around, he won't be able to hurt you. He'll _never _get close e-enough." Of course, that was because Mister Jellybean King was being scrubbed out of the villagers' clothes and hair, and probably spiraling down the drain to be with his fellow shit brethren. But Rick didn't want Morty to know about that: he was supposed to just _go away _after that, not haunt Morty's dreams like Scary Terry. Morty finding out he had been killed might not make the situation better—Morty wasn't especially violent, and Rick didn't want to upset him any more. "But, Morty, here's the thEEEUUng: I can only pr-protect you. This guy's _your _bad guy, and until y-y-you really beat him, h-he'll just keep comin' back! You have to put a stop to this."

"M-me?" Morty was still shaking. "But—but what can I do?"

"It's your dream, Morty!" Rick urged. "You c-can do whatever you want!"

Morty blinked owlishly, but then jumped as the jellybean broke free from the ice encasing his leg.

"Anything, Morty!" Rick reiterated. "You can do anything! You can beat him!"

The jellybean sauntered toward them, lips stretched out in a sadistic grin. "Outta the way, pops!"

With a flash of strength, the jellybean roughly shoved Rick out of the way. Rick fell to the floor and hit his head, his vision going fuzzy for a second. He heard Morty cry out to him in alarm.

"C'mere, sweet!" The jellybean reached for Morty.

And then there was a zigzag of red. The jellybean screamed and howled in agony.

"No," Morty said, voice the strongest Rick had ever heard it. He wielded the very same raygun Rick had used to take out the real jellybean in the real world with confidence and fury. He aimed. "_You _c'mere."

Rick rose to his feet and watched Morty shoot again, zapping out the jellybean's legs. The bastard tried to crawl away, but Morty took out both of his arms. The jellybean looked up, and Morty had the raygun pointed toward his forward.

"I'd tell you to just sit here and take it," Morty said, voice cold. "But th-then that would make me you. And I will _never _be like you. Besides, you don't have much choice, do you?"

Morty didn't even wait for a reply. He shot, and the jellybean erupted into a puddle of green goo.

Rick woke up in Morty's bedroom. He was lying on the floor, and Morty had just sat up in bed suddenly, breathing hitched and labored.

"Morty…" Rick sat on Morty's bed, staring at Morty as the kid got his breathing together. "Hey." Rick grinned. "Ya d-did it. Ya showed that bastard who's b-boss!"

"Yeah…I did, didn't I?" Morty smiled, obviously exhausted. "He's gone. I beat him. Thanks, Rick."

"Don't mention it, kid."

"No, like—" Morty flung his arms around Rick's neck. "Thank you," he whispered against Rick's neck. "Thank you so much."

Rick smirked and lightly hugged him back. "W-w-why you thanking me? You shot him."  
"Yeah, but…" Morty let go and smiled sheepishly up at Rick. "You were my inspiration."

"A-as I shERGHould be." Rick rose from Morty's bed. "Welp, it's way too late for b-b-both of us. You think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"Yeah." Morty nodded, tucking himself in.

"Well alrighty." Rick shut off the lights and stood in the doorway. "Night, Morty."

"Night, Rick," Morty called. "Love you."

Rick stopped abruptly. He glanced back at Morty, who was already half-asleep. Rick smirked and nodded at the sleeping form of his grandson.

"Love you too, kid."


End file.
